Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
"Isn't that fucked up?"
"Yeah. But I can't fix that. I can only advise you with him." He looks down at me. "If you really want to do this, he's a good choice. Safe."
Right. He's safe. The way Dare is safe. Only this feels incredibly dangerous.
"And I'll be here," he says. "If anything is too much… we can have a safe word."
"You'll be able to hear?"
"I'll make sure I can hear," he says.
"So you're going to listen to us have sex?"
His laugh breaks up the tension in his jaw. "You know what I mean."
That is what he means. But I can't linger on that.
I nod.
"How about whiskey soda?" he asks. "We'll start at a bar. It won't be out of place. And you'd never order a whiskey soda."
That's not terrible. I nod. "Whiskey soda."
"You can use it here too." He pulls my body into his. "If this is too much."
"Okay."
"You ready?" he asks.
"There are other details?"
"Are they important?"
They don't feel important. "We can talk later."
"Okay." He nods. "There's just one thing—"
"Yeah?"
"Friction."
"Friction?" I ask.
"You put your hand on my jeans, I'm gonna have a reaction."
Right. If I put my hand on his dick, he's going to get hard, even with his jeans in the way.
"I don't want you to freak out."
"I understand the mechanics." Even if it's different right now. Because it's Dare. But I can't say that. I don't even want to think it.
"If it is too much—"
"For you too."
"For me?" he asks.
"Can nothing be too much for you?"
"I've done everything," he says.
Yes, he's slept with a lot of people. He's tested out a lot of positions. He's probably tried kinks and engaged in threesomes. But he's never been with someone he loves. "When's the last time you kissed someone you like?" I swallow hard. "Besides last night?" That doesn't count, but I can't bring myself to say that.
"It's been a while."
"That's new for you."
"Okay. Whiskey soda." He nods. "You want to start with kissing?"
"Kissing. Then we'll feel it out."
"You have a limit here?" he asks.
"Only clothes. No touching under the, uh, underwear."
"Got it." He keeps his voice steady.
How? I'm already shaking. Kissing my best friend. Touching my best friend. Practicing removing the clothes of my best friend.
I'm out of my mind.
Completely and totally out of my mind.
Dare looks down at me like I'm the only thing he needs. His hand finds my chin. His eyes flutter closed.
A soft kiss to start.
Then a harder one.
Something longer.
After I pull back and take a deep breath, I hook my arm around his neck and bring my lips to his.
I try the soft scrape of my teeth.
He pulls back with a gasp. "Fuck."
"Too hard?"
"Perfect."
I try it again. I wrap my lips around his and scrape my teeth against his bottom lip.
He groans against my lips, so I try it again and again.
My lips part to make way for his tongue. He moves with the perfect mix of care and control. Not too fast, not too slow. Not too hard, not too soft.
Just right.
His tongue swirls with mine.
It's like we're in high school again. Not because that was my first kiss, our first kiss. No. It's the way he's kissing me, like the connection of our lips is everything.
He's not rushing to the next thing.
He's not treating our kiss as a prelude or a promise or an implication.
It just is.
My need pours into him. His need pours into me.
Is that all him? Or am I imagining things?
This feels so fucking good. Too fucking good.
I pull back with a sigh. "Too much?"
"No."
"Do you want to stop?"
"No." I don't stop to clarify. I bring my lips to his.
He backs me into the wall as he kisses me. He moves a little harder, a little faster.
Then his hand goes to my hips. My ass. Over my dress, yeah, but on my ass.
He pulls my body into his.
He's hard. From the friction. The biological reality of flesh against flesh.
Or is it more?
It feels like so much more.
It feels like everything.
For the first time in three and a half years, I need this. I need his hardness against me. I need my hands around him. Or my lips. Or my sex.
Even this, the physical bliss of him, hard against me—
I need that.
I'm not scared by his arousal.
I fucking need his arousal. I need to know he feels this too, wants this too, needs this too.
He kisses me as he brings his hand to the hem of my dress. "This too?"
"Huh?"
"You need to practice this too?"
Right. Practice. I nod.
He lifts my skirt an inch, but he doesn't remove my dress. Instead, he curls his hand around my neck and traces a line down my skin, over my collarbone, along the neckline of my dress.
He pushes one strap off my shoulder.
Then the other.
"Take off the rest," he purrs into my ear.
I push the dress down my torso. Then off my hips.